


Conversations on Flight

by Kronos_KingOfTheMonkeyPeople



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Modern AU, Older Man/Younger Woman, Politics, Romance, Vicbourne, lovers to AHHHHHHHHHTHISISCOMPLICATED, talking talking and more talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kronos_KingOfTheMonkeyPeople/pseuds/Kronos_KingOfTheMonkeyPeople
Summary: A Modern Vicbourne AU. 18 year old Victoria has suddenly found herself Queen of Great Britain. With the help of Prime Minister Melbourne, she tries to grasp her unexpected responsibility, while they both try to handle the profound repercussions of what brought her to power in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

It was snowing in the desert.

The sky turned white as the air was swarmed by peculiar flakes, fluttering soundlessly as they very slowly danced downwards, then finally came to rest atop their alien bed.

Seats without occupants.

Clothes, once folded with ordered intent, scattered in the sand.

A shadow of black smoke passed through the sky as the wind shifted slightly, plunging the scene into darkness.

A stain began to creep through some settled flakes of paper.

Deep red.

 

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 

The flashing colour of the motorcycle light caused Will to blink slightly in pain. Rubbing his pinkie over his eye, he was careful to keep the burning tip of the cigarette pointed away as it rested delicately between his fingers. The culprit moved up a few feet, allowing Will to settle his arm back against the open frame of the car window, but not before taking one more long drag of his stalwart comfort.

He watched the police escort, watched the thick line of trees passing by, dampening the cry of the sirens.

Was this all a dream?

Some frightening dream?

Ash flew off the tip of his cigarette and past the racing car. He glanced over to Emma who sat next to him on the wide black leather seat, a pile of documents beginning to slip off her lap, her hand rubbing at her scalp slightly as she talked on her phone, still in shock.

No. Not a nightmare.

Far too real.

As he should expect by now, considering.

He brought the cigarette back to his lips when Emma finally hung up, and looked at him with tired eyes. Already tired.

“The King’s giving a statement now.”

Will inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs.

The King.

He exhaled through a small gap on the side of his lips.

Strange to think they both knew whom she was talking about it.

There could only be one person now.

How sudden things change.

“We’re coming up now, sir.” The driver intercom buzzed through the stillness.

Emma began to rifle through her ever-present purse. “There’ll be people.” She pulled out a small silver cylinder and handed it to Will, to which he obligingly accepted and flicked up the top, then after one final puff, squashed the stained cigarette butt into the inside wall of the container then snapped the lid shut, bottling the dying embers.

Handing the cylinder back, they performed their practiced routine where his Chief of Staff swapped it for two small mints.

Popping them in his mouth, he pressed the side button of the door, his tongue beginning to burn slightly, the thick glass moving upwards, until it finally closed them off from the loud rush outside.

Will peered through the tinted window when the line of trees finally broke out into a pleasant scene of manicured countryside, only to be interrupted by a parked car. Then another car. Policemen in florescent vests, arms outstretched along the side of the road. People standing behind. Lost. Moving forward. Carrying flowers.

It was time.

Giving a small cough, he swirled the mints around in his mouth before crunching down on them resolutely. The car began to slow and he turned his gaze away from the milling crowd of shocked faces outside, when the motorcade passed them by and rolled through to the gravelled driveway of a large estate.

The car stopped.

Will flicked a look at Emma, who was stuck in silence too.

Letting out a sigh, he grabbed the handle of the door and stepped out of the armoured car, into the open world.

It was eerily silent.

The sirens had stopped, but something else made the situation feel wrong.

It was only later realised it was because there were no helicopters. They’d all been grounded.

Passing his eyes over the courtyard in front of the estate, he saw the distant faces of the waiting crowd on the other side of the tall fence, quiet and still. Waiting on him.

Turning to the house, he straightened himself as he walked along the gravel drive where a line of servants and stern looking security agents stood along the steps to the main door.

His gaze caught itself on the small black armbands already on arms on waiting staff.

Strange how they could get them on so quickly.

They must have a drawer somewhere full of them. Waiting for something like this.

But when had something like this ever happened?

He could feel their eyes upon him as he strode up the stone steps, then through the open door and into the darkness of the grand foyer.

The cold room was empty except for one tall man, dressed perfectly in a tailored suit, his hands pressed firmly together.

“Prime Minister.” He gave him a short bow then held out his strong hand. “John Conroy, Private Secretary to Duchess of Kent. I will show you to Dr…Her Majesty.”

The words sounded foreign in his mouth, and he kept his gaze deferentially to the floor as shook Will’s hand.

“Thank you.” Will responded politely, when Conroy lifted up his palm and directed him down a cavernous hallway.

“This way, sir.” He started through the house, and Will followed, eyes taking in the antique decorations, paintings and ornaments, gold trims and heavy velvet. Rooms stuck in time.

Conroy finally stilled at a final room with a large door firmly closed. In front of the door stood a young woman in casual dress, but with a slight bulge in the side of her jacket and a clear rubber bud in her ear. Security.

The women next to her were older. Both in their fifties, but one in a conservative dress and cardigan, the other stylish, perfect nails, perfect hair. He instantly recognised her.

Conroy took his place by the Duchess.

“Your Royal Highness.” Will gave the required bow.

“Prime Minister.” The Duchess of Kent responded shortly.

He let his eyes pass over the gathered group, falling on the young agent. “Is Her Majesty…”

“She is in the next room.” The Duchess answered, her voice still clipped with a shade of German.

“You may go in, sir.” The security agent clarified, then moved to open the large door as the others moved aside.

Will gave a nod of thanks to the young woman, then slowly stepped forward, through the doors and into the large room, the sunlight spilling through the tall windows, causing his eyes to squint, trying to adjust to the change of brightness.

A young girl stood still in the centre of the room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Remember the protocol.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Snap heels.

Straight back.

Hands flat to the sides.

Bow from the neck.

His eyes craned slowly upwards from the richly carpeted floor and granted his first proper look at the new regent. Plain ballet flats met a light pair of skinny jeans, then a deep blue knitted jumper, when he finally came upon her face, dark brown hair haphazardly tied up into a loose bun, a small peculiar nose, young lips, and eyes… wide blue eyes directed straight at him.

 _The Princess in the Tower_.

Now the Queen.

The girl had been standing quite still before she quickly shot out her right arm in front of her in an unpractised move, permitting Will to move on to the next stage of the formality, to which he stepped towards her, took her small warm hand inside his, and gave one final bow from the neck.

“My sincerest condolences, Ma’am.” Will silently prayed he got the pronunciation right as he rose his gaze back to her, noticing now her eyes were lined with red. She’d been crying. Of course she had been. He tried desperately to think of what to say next, but everything seemed horribly glib. “The commonwealth is in shock.” He tried.

“The world is in shock.” Her unexpected comment dropped like his hand from hers, in a quiet, hollow voice, before her eyes focused on his with a new intensity. “Do you know who did it?”

Right. Obviously done with pleasantries. He held his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid Ma’am, we cannot yet confirm that it was an attack, let alone who committed it.”

“But there must be some…some organisations or something that you’ve been watching. Some suspects. On the news they had a whole list of groups just a second after it…” Her anxious defiance fluttered short.

“It is far easier for the media to jump to conclusions, Ma’am, but for the government to do it, the consequences would be very grave.” Will tried in his most considerate voice, still unsure how to approach the status of the girl. She was the Queen now. But eighteen. And so thoroughly unprepared for the role.

“Of course.” She looked away at the floor, almost like she berated herself. “I’m sorry.”

He did not desire that reaction at all. “No need to be sorry, Ma’am – ” He quickly stepped in without a second thought. “Your family was attacked. They were…” _murdered_ “…taken away. You have every right to want answers.”

She looked back at him silently, her eyes looking him up in quiet assessment, then she turned from her spot in the centre of the room and padded tiredly to the tall windows, her shoulders hanging low.

The silence hung.

“It was Edward’s birthday.” Her soft voice barely caught his ear. “Less than a month ago.” He watched as her head angled itself upwards to the clear autumn sky, a deep red leaf fluttering past from a nearby oak. “I made him a book…”

She fell back into silence.

Say something.

Anything.

“He was a sweet boy.” Will attempted, when he was overcome by an unexpected swell of emotion, seizing his throat. Boys about the same age. Both bright. Now gone. “Used to um… interrupt the weekly meetings with your Uncle.” He couldn’t stop himself. Will’s thoughts flashed with boyish grins, a father throwing his young son over his shoulder, holding him securely by the legs, trusting, safe, laughing.

At least he did not have to feel the pain of the living.

A well-known darkness plumed like a suffocating smoke through his mind.

Now was not the time.

“But I assure you, Ma’am, we will find out who shot down the plane, and we _will_ bring them to justice.” He started again, the strong words cascading from his mouth before he could stop them, in any attempt to comfort her.

Or him.

“I promise.”

She turned from the window finally and to face him from the other end of the wide room. “Thank you, Mr Melbourne.”

Silence fell between them once more.

He had no time.

Had to get to it.

He stepped in towards her.

“But, I’m afraid, Your Majesty, I did not come here solely to express my condolences.”

She was shook out of her reverie. “No. No of course not. Do you want to… shall we sit?” She waved a hand to the two ornate lounges in the centre of the room, to which Will obediently approached the closest one, when he discovered a previously unnoticed audience to their conversation curled up in the corner of the cushions in a ball of black and white fur.

His eyes flicked back up to the girl who now waited patiently on him by the opposite lounge, which found them both in a surreal and awkward enactment of a Mexican standoff.

Should he tell her?

No.

She remained standing.

He remained standing.

Will finally decided instead to give a small cough, and to direct his eyes to the lounge then back to her, to which her eyes lit up in understanding, and she hurried to sit down on the plush cushions.

Will slowly followed after, but weight on the seat roused the silent canine sentinel next to him, its little head peaking out from its slumber, when it surveyed its unexpected guest from under soft floppy ears. Will instinctively brought his hand out, and presenting his curled fingers to the dog’s small wet nose, received silent permission to proceed, to which he began to scratch lightly between the silky curls of the dog’s ears.

“Sorry about that.” Her stilted voice interrupted, causing him to look back at her, her expression unsure about his own reaction. The dog crawled closer to him, nuzzling its nose into his lap.

“No need.” Will gave a small smile then looked back down at the young girl’s companion. “It’s a sweet thing.”

“Come on Dash.” She nonetheless patted lightly on the cushion beside her, to which it immediately jumped away from Will and hopped between the lounges to join her. He was about to protest, but seeing her posture soften slightly at the arrival of her friend, he realised calling the dog may have been more for her own sake than for his.

And this was the girl who needed to comfort a nation.

Will shifted forwards on the lounge and clasped his hands together. “Your Majesty, I can’t imagine the profound shock you must feel at the events of today, and then finding yourself so suddenly in this position… I assume it was something you never planned for.”

She remained silent. Watching.

“But as your Prime Minister, I feel I have a duty to advise that you should… _postpone_ this moment to absorb and to grieve. The country needs to see their new Queen, and you will need to set up a team around you. A Private Secretary, someone to manage all your commitments…”

“Lehzen can do that.” She answered simply.

“Lehzen?”

“Yes. She was my tutor.”

A Buckingham home school.

“Ma’am… I’m afraid with the specific work-load and insider knowledge required to be your Private Secretary, your old tutor may find herself a little… out of her depth.” He caught the corners of her lips beginning to frown. “Perhaps you could ask for a little temporary assistance from Mr Conroy, he has worked within the Royal Family for – ”

“I will not have that man anywhere near me.” Her voice was cold. Will studied her as her suddenly stiff body as she turned her attention to her dog, her expression dark in thought, when she returned her focus to him with newfound clarity. “Lehzen may be inexperienced, but she’s smart and capable. And she’s my friend.” Will allowed a small nod in understanding as the young girl stroked her small dog again in thought. “But she can have assistance from my Uncle’s Secretary for a little bit, so she can properly learn everything the job requires.”

Will’s stomach dropped slightly. “Excellent decision, Ma’am… but I’m afraid she can only be mentored by the _Assistant_ Secretary now…”

“Oh.” Her eyes saddened in realisation.

Everything was affected by it.

A black cloud.

Choking.

Insipid.

Will looked down.

“The ah…King of Saudi Arabia is currently delivering a statement on TV, Ma’am.”

“Do you know what he’s saying?” She jumped on quickly.

“I presume it is all a repeat of what he told me personally on the phone; that he was shocked as everyone, had no knowledge, and will co-operate with British Intelligence…” He looked at the girl’s face curiously as she diligently absorbed his words. “The King has not tried to contact you?”

“No. I haven’t been told of any calls.”

“Ah.”

She glanced away.

“Mr Conroy and my mother are waiting by the door, aren’t they?” Her voice was surprisingly monotone. She looked back at him. “I know who _he_ thinks should be my Private Secretary.”

“Well then it shall be all the more enjoyable, Ma’am, when you get to tell him he’s wrong.” Will dared a small smile, when their eyes caught from across the room, and the corner of her lips rose just slightly. “You can receive all the calls you want now. And indeed, many that you don’t.” She smiled fully now, almost as if in thanks, but then just as quickly as it appeared it quickly faded.

“They’ll all be saying sorry.” Her eyes flicked to the floor. “I never know what to say in a conversation like that. Everything just seems… inadequate.”

“Just thanking them is enough.” Will tried with a soft voice. “No one ever expects anything more.”

Her gaze returned to his, locking him in.

“Thank you.” Her voice was sincere.

“You are very welcome, Your Majesty.” He smiled. “I am afraid I must return to Downing St, but I would advise one more thing if I can – that you deliver a statement yourself, to camera, as soon as possible.”

She sat still, but gave a small nod. “Of course.”

“The cabinet, shadow cabinet and I should be there in support and strength, but this has been a blow for the whole nation, and we need you out there as a beacon of calm and of hope.” She nodded again, taking in the responsibility. “I have an excellent team of writers in my staff, I would be more than happy for them to write something up for y-”

“No.”

Will stopped in his tracks.

She sat straight on the lounge, blue eyes staring straight at him, determined.

“If I am to address my people for the first time, I will do it in my own words.”

His brow rose.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The Queen suddenly rose from the lounge, tugging her large woollen jumper down. “And I shall deliver the statement tonight. No reason we should keep the people waiting.”

Will quickly stood up himself. “I will organize the Cabinets.”

“Great. I will see you later today then.” She stuck out her hand once more, to which he stepped in towards her before enveloping her palm with his wide hand.

“Yes Ma’am.” He bowed stiffly from the neck. “Till then.”

Never turn your back.

Letting go of her hand, he began to back away slowly, eyes forward as the Queen watched him, a look of forced determination still on her face, as he prayed he wouldn’t overstep and back straight into the door.

But at least she could get a laugh out of that.

Sneaking a look at the ground, he could tell the edge of the carpet grew near, causing him to slow down and reached out the fingers of his hand behind his back, till he finally grazed wood.

Stilling himself, he took one final look at the young Queen, standing alone but for her little dog, and gave a parting bow.

A curious woman.

He managed to turn the door knob and shuffle aside for the door to swing open, then turned away into the darkness.

Alone for so long.

He would help her.


	3. Chapter 3

 

_…that makes it six pm here in London so we are only now an hour away until the new Queen, Queen Alexandra we expect, delivers her first address to the nation, and indeed to the world._

_If you've just joined us here on the BBC we're now approaching out 16th hour of coverage since news first hit of the shocking attack on flight BA01, the plane that was of course carrying King William V, his wife and two young sons from their Royal Tour of Australia. The airplane was shot down soon after refuelling in Dubai…with no ah…survivors._

_Shocking. Just a shocking day._

_Indeed. I think we're all trying to fathom it together. Just looking at the faces on the crowd out there you can tell no one could even conceive of something like this happening._

_No. But if we look now we can see a convoy of cars…_

_Yes, heading towards the estate. This will be the Prime Minister and the cabinets of both the coalition and the opposition, on their way to show their support for the new Queen as the world meets her - really for the first time._

_Yes unlike other members of the Royal family, Queen Alexandra, or more Princess Alexandra as she was before – as a Princess she was very much sheltered from the public eye._

_The Princess in the Tower._

_Of course. Much of that due her mother, who has always played such a large role in her life, protecting her from the press, taking her out of school after the attack three years ago…_

_While she herself has remained quite prominent._

_Exactly. Her mother – the Queen Mother I should no doubt say now – I would not be at all surprised if what we see in this new reign as almost a shared rule. Which indeed could be…_

 

* * *

 

"Your Grace?"

The thin white sheet of paper trembled soundlessly between her fingertips.

Oh.

That was her now.

She looked up from the desk. Miss Lehzen stood like a tense string by the large wooden door of the darkened study, her old hands squeezing themselves together so tightly she almost thought they could burst.

"It is time."

No.

She looked back down at the piece of paper as every sharp line of black text seemed to taunt her with her unworthiness.

She couldn't do this.

Why did she think she could do this?

"There are make-up people are waiting outside…" Her old tutor continued unabated, her German accent clipping with impatience. "…we must go now if we are to make the scheduled broadcast."

The paper now began to flutter noticeably in her hand. She quickly let it go and pressed it down onto the desk with force, but her palms stilled thrummed with an anxious energy.

"I just need another ten minutes, Lehzen." Her small voice cracked out from her dry throat.

But her stalwart teacher's brow creased into a familiar sternness, no doubt feeling the pressure herself in her unexpected change of employment that day. "Please Drina we must – "

"Ten minutes." She forced herself to sit up straighter, to meet her companion's eyes in unpractised defiance. "Alone."

Lehzen's mouth opened but her protest was quickly withdrawn into a reluctant sigh. She instead gave a quiet bow and stepped lightly backwards, then promptly showed herself out.

The grand door closed with a sombre clack.

She pushed herself from the desk and stood up with a jolt.

Where was Dash?

She needed him. She needed something…

She should've asked Lehzen to get him before she left.

Stupid.

Now with was stuck with being alone. Alone with her stupid speech and her stupid nerves.

She wrapped her arms tight around her chest and squeezed her hands into tight fists to stop them from shaking as her heart began to throb at a painful speed against her ribs.

Over one billion people.

Conroy said that. Said that was how many people would be watching when she told him she was going to write the address to the nation herself.

_How very brave of you Ma'am, but this is not a book report._

Even the memory of his simpering, twisted voice made her want to vomit in the waste paper bin. And her mother didn't even say anything to defend her. But then of again of course she didn't.

She had marched away from them as quickly as her stupid little legs could take her, heading straight to the study to write, determined to prove Conroy wrong – but the doubt followed. It seeped into every thought, into every strike of the keyboard, until she felt as if it consumed her whole.

What if he was right? What if she was about to make a fool of herself in front of over a billion people?

She couldn't even fathom a number so large but it still gripped her into a profound panic.

Was this the sort of thing she would have to deal with all the time as Queen? Queen. She was the Queen. How the hell can she be the Queen? She hadn't even gone to university yet. She'd been trapped at home. She didn't know anything. Didn't know about foreign affairs or government or politics or diplomacy. That was all her uncle. And her nephew. He was eleven and he knew more than her. He was so much smarter.

And now he was gone.

Dead.

Killed.

A choked cry ripped its way out of her throat as her lungs were being pressed down with a horrible weight and her ears throbbed with the pounding of her heartbeat.

There was a knock on the door.

It couldn't have been ten minutes – if she didn't answer then Lehzen would leave.

Another knock.

" _Your Majesty?_ "

Her breath stopped in her tight chest and her eyes fixed to the door.

The Prime Minister. What was –

" _May I come in?_ "

No.

"Yes."

Her mouth shot out the answer before she could stop herself. She grimaced in pain at her stupidity. She couldn't let him see her like this. But then if she didn't let him in would he think she was some petulant child, locking herself in her room?

The door began to open.

Quickly she tried to shake herself into normalcy, force her body into a confident form she had seen her uncle take before, and breathe.

She needed to breathe.

"Please forgive the intrusion Ma'am but I thought I should wish you luck before your…" Mr Melbourne entered with his husky voice, carefully closing the door behind him and approaching her now outstretched hand to take in formality within his own, but when he did his words died and she found herself faltering under his focused gaze.

Breathe.

Please breathe.

"I… I'm sorry Ma'am but are you feeling alright?" His brow creased in concern as he looked down at her, her hand starting to feel unbearably hot in his hands while her heartbeat sped towards a frantic rate.

"Fine." She pulled her hand back quickly and turned away. She couldn't do this in front of him. The Prime Minister… not after they just met. And she thought the meeting had gone so well. Now he'd know she was nothing but a weak little girl. Just like Conroy always said. She needed to get him out of here. She tried to exhale but nothing came. Her chest ached with a crippling weight when suddenly she felt a wide hand along her forearm.

"Please, Your Majesty…" His low voice pleaded softly as he guided her back to the dark leather lounge. "…please - just sit."

She felt her body going along with him but her eyes close themselves tight in abject embarrassment. If she could just take a proper breath she'd been fine she wouldn't be doing this in front of him…

"Ma'am. Look at me." She felt her hands being enveloped by two cool palms when she realised she was sitting on the lounge. "Please."

Her eyes shot open.

Green.

A deep green staring right at her.

"I'm going to take deep breaths and you're going to follow me, ok?"

Green that looked impossibly tired.

"Ok – now slowly – just watch me."

The man swelled his chest out the slightest bit from his crouched position from the floor in front of her, taking in a measured and deep breath.

Follow.

He told me to follow.

Her head pulsated with her frantic heartbeat when she opened her lips and attempted a breath, but her lungs felt trapped tight into a vice, only allowing shallow and jagged gasp out. She looked away. Pathetic. Couldn't even do the simplest task. He must think she's pathetic.

But he continued nonetheless. Slowly.

In slowly. Hold. Out slowly. Hold.

Her eyes lifted themselves up again, wanting to judge his reaction, if he was impatient or annoyed – but his own green eyes remained the same. Kind. They were kind.

She'd never seen eyes like that.

A slight breath skimmed out from the top of her lungs. The corner of his mouth creased into the smallest of smiles as he gave an encouraging nod and continued with the steady pace of breathing.

In slowly. Hold. Out slowly. Hold.

They found themselves falling into the same rhythm, the gradual swell and release, when she felt the gripping pain in her chest loosen bit by bit until it melted away into a slight tenderness and her lungs were free to fill themselves up with precious air.

In slowly. Hold. Out slowly. Hold.

And then he stopped.

She felt almost like she'd lost something, breaking their rhythm. He gave her hands a small squeeze when his eyes danced with a faint smile.

"Better?"

She took in a deep breath and gave a nod.

"Better."

The Prime Minister smiled fully now, such a warm smile, when his eyes left hers and he looked down to their joined hands. He let out a small cough and pulled his hands back to himself.

"Please um…excuse me Ma'am, if I have overstepped my bounds."

His bounds? No. Of course. She was his senior now.

"No." She countered quickly, relieved she had found her voice. "I am… very grateful for your help." She tried a smile, when a black claw of doubt climbed back up into her gut. "You won't – you will not tell anyone about – "

"I wouldn't dream of it, Ma'am." He replied adamantly, to which she couldn't help but trust him. A man she hardly knew.

"Thank you." She smiled fully now, and he mirrored it with his own, when he gave a small huff and pushed himself up from his crouched position on the floor.

"No need to thank me, Ma'am." Mr Melbourne started as he gave a look around the small confines of the dark office then found his direction. "I'm just glad I was here to help you, that's a horrible thing to have to go through alone." He walked up the small stainless silver mini fridge under the wooden gin cabinet and retrieved a bottle of water.

She watched him carefully as he returned with the small plastic bottle outstretched to her in offering. Was that why he seemed to know exactly how to help her? "Has that happened to you before?" She took the bottle gladly.

His eyes darted downwards with a peculiar sadness, as he brought his now empty hands together and rubbed them absentmindedly.

"Once."

She shouldn't have pried. But still she found he interested her greatly. She felt like she already knew him so well - knew a version of him that was online, on the news, that her mother and Conroy and Lehzen gossiped about, that was so constantly present and well formed – _The Playboy PM, The Eton Bastard, Labour's Last Resort, Tabloid Willy_ – she had been so nervous to meet that man.

But this… this man in front her now felt like another person completely. Someone utterly unexpected.

She looked down to the chilled plastic bottle in her hands as the condensation pooled at her finger tips when she took a slow, soothing draught of the water, then played with the small blue plastic cap on the top of the bottle while she waited for Mr Melbourne to speak. To ask her to hurry up.

But instead there was silence. A shuffle of shoes then the slide of wood against wood as one of the old chairs was brought up opposite her on the leather lounge, and then on which the Prime Minister sat himself down. Then silence.

She concentrated as her heartbeat slowly descended back into a steady pace. He didn't say anything, but she didn't feel as if he was waiting on her. Instead she felt something else. She'd felt a tinge of it that morning when she was looking out the window and he had shared his condolences, but now it rose within her like a soothing plume. Something intangible and unknown to her. Like she could admit something of herself and it would be ok.

Ok.

"I haven't given a speech to anyone since I was 14." She tested, forcing her eyes up now to look at Mr Melbourne, who was leaning forward in his small chair, his forearms resting on his lap. "I mean, besides Lehzen."

"Well…" His eyebrows danced slightly. "I can't think of a harder audience then that, Ma'am."

A laugh took her utterly by surprise. It shot up out of her like a heavenly burst of relief.

Mr Melbourne just gave small smile.

"No. I suppose not." She gave a sigh. "No doubt she's whipping everyone into shape outside then?"

"Give her another half hour and even my own cabinet will have replaced me with her." He gave a waggle of his brow, but then his expression changed into something more earnest. "She is an excellent choice for Private Secretary, Ma'am."

"Yes." She smiled to herself as a slight inkling of pride returned to her heart. "Yes I think she is." She looked down at her hands again until she found the will to take the next step.

But it was time.

Deep breath.

Look up.

"How do you do it?" She asked with a clear voice. "Give all those speeches to so many people?"

The Prime Minister shifted in his seat, clasped his hands together and looked up in the air as if looking for the answer when he gave a sigh. "I… well Ma'am I'm sorry for the language, but to be honest, I guess I try not to give a rat's arse about whatever I'm talking about."

"What?" She couldn't help but let out the smallest of giggles.

"Apathy is a surprisingly good palliative." He shrugged.

"You're joking." She smiled.

"Yes." He admitted. "Well, no. It is important to care, Ma'am. Indeed caring is the lifeblood of humanity – but it does make one horribly susceptible to doubt. Because now you have something to loose." His eyes flashed with a sudden sadness, but then he quickly shuffled himself forward in his chair and locked her in his sights. "There will be a lot of people watching you tonight Ma'am. More than you can even imagine; that is true. But they will be watching because you are the Queen. You are the sovereign of this great nation. You. Not me, not your uncle or Lehzen or even your mother. However you go out there, whatever you say – nothing will change that fact."

She sat uneasily on the lounge. "What if I only tell everyone to bugger off?"

"Then you will be praised for your brevity." He gave a kind smile. "You can do this Ma'am. I know you can. We'll have your speech on the teleprompter, so you won't forget your words, and worst comes to worst I'll be standing close - so if you ever doubt yourself, just have a look over at my daft old mug and remember that if the public still tolerate me as their PM, then they're going to absolutely adore you as their Queen."

Her cheeks unexpectedly flushed with a sudden heat, forcing her to look away from his eyes. But she couldn't deny the swell of confidence he'd gifted her. A small voice told her he would surely say anything to get her out there, but for some reason she seemed to trust him anyway. He believed she was the Queen. And so she was.

"Ok." She rose up from the lounge, to which he looked up at her in surprise, when she walked with determined steps over to the desk where her abandoned speech lay.

"Ok." He echoed in support and stood up as well. "Let's introduce everyone to the new Queen Alexandra."

"No." She said simply as she picked up her piece of paper.

"What?"

"No." She repeated with renewed confidence and met the Prime Minister's eyes across the room. "Everyone calls me that even though I've always hated it. But now I'm the Queen. And I will be Queen on my own terms. So from now on I will called Victoria."

"Queen Victoria." Mr Melbourne pronounced with a soft smile, causing a flutter in her heart. "Well then, _Queen Victoria_ , hows about you and I take that new name of yours out for a spin?" He waved out his hand to the door with a charming glint of his eye.

Victoria folded the up the paper and held it tightly in her hand.

Yes.

She could do this.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr M."

 


	4. Chapter 4

                                                                   

 

 

* * *

 

There was a hurried procession of boxes down the stairs of the palace.

A neat line of silent house staff descended on the right side with a sombreness that is not usually coupled with cardboard, and slow line ascended on the left empty handed.

The little Queen _really_ needed to work on her timing.

Will passed the thin manila folder in to his other hand and walked behind the royal butler, following his clean sharp steps as they crossed along the centre of the grandiose foyer, the ceiling flying floors above them, then headed upwards. The staff paused in their mission as he passed them, bowing their heads in codified respect, but as soon as they were out of his peripheral vision he could already hear the shuffle of cardboard as they quickly resumed their mission.

He knew what the boxes contained. He had gone through the same act all those years before, only then with potentially lethal alcohol content.

Removing the possessions of the dead.

His brow lowered in a frown as they made their way across the landing to the familiar doors of the royal sitting room. What was the Queen thinking, making her way here before the funeral? His director of communications almost had a fucking conniption at her idiocy when they were told that morning she was driving out from the estate. All the clout she had garnered from her address could be gone in just a day.

He knew he shouldn’t care so much. She was only a figurehead, a hollow crown - and yet…

And yet she had done so well the night before. He couldn’t just sit by and watch as she squandered that.

The butler headed to a stop before the doors, then primly turned around to him and waved a hand out to the side. “One moment, sir.”

Will stopped in his place and brought the manila up to both hands as he ran a finger along the smooth edge of it and watched as the butler disappeared behind the large doors. He looked down the richly carpeted landing, but for a palace in such motion there was surprisingly no one around. He could hear the scuffs and shuffles of the dutiful staff rising up from the levels below, but it seemed in front of the new Queen, they hoped to keep their actions unseen.

The door opened once more, as the grim face of the old tutor-cum-Private Secretary emerged onto the landing and gave a curt nod before finding a perch opposite him and staring him down in silence. The butler stepped out between them, along with the young bodyguard he remembered seeing when he first met the Queen, when the butler turned to Will with a bow.

“The Queen shall see you now, sir.”

Will couldn’t help but look on in amusement as the Private Secretary’s face seemed to fall into a glare as she watched him step up to the door, but he had to turn away.

Obviously not her favourite, then.

With a small thank you to the butler, Will stepped over the threshold and into the familiar sitting room when the door was closed behind him.

“How good to see you, Mr Melbourne.” It was strange seeing the young woman jump up from the chair King William so recently always sat, but still she seemed to remarkably fit the position.

“And you, Ma’am.” Will stepped towards her and took her hand with a bow. He had wondered if she would keep up the little nickname she’d anointed him with the night before, but obviously not. He didn't want it to bother him.

“Do you want anything?” She twirled around in her natural energy and waved to a small table that had been adorned with trays, as her little dog circled around it excitedly. “Tea, coffee, biscuits? A lady brought them in a few minutes ago but I have no idea what to do with it, really.” She gave him a small hapless smile, which he couldn’t help but join in with.

“Thank you Ma’am, I’m fine.”

He couldn’t say it was exactly the same set up as her uncle always had. Couldn’t say the reason there were extra biscuits was because the young boys would run through the meetings occasionally to knick them. So instead he smiled.

“They’ve all been frightfully nice to me – the staff, I mean.” The Queen floated back down to the chair, as Will poised for his chance to question why on earth she thought it a sensible thing to be here. “Not exactly sure why – I mean _yes_ , I guess I’m their boss now – but still, I know they’re packing up. They were pretending they weren’t when I met them all, but I knew.” Her eyes darted downwards, causing him to step closer.

“How did it go? The meeting, I mean.”

“There were a lot of people. Like, _a lot_.” She looked up at him with an exhausted smile, which seemed almost forced. “I had only seen a handful here and there when I visited here a couple of times before, but there they were, all lined up. Took me hours to go through everyone.”

“ _Go through_?” Will’s brow rose as he sat himself on the opposite lounge.

“Talk.” She replied as if it were obvious. “They were very fond of my uncle’s family, and so was I. That’s why I came here. Thought if we’re going to go through this we may as well go through it together. But I’m sure I’ve only managed to annoy them.”

“I’m sure you haven’t at all Ma’am.” Will couldn’t help but protest. “That was a very kind thing for you to do.”

The Queen gave a small smile then looked away from his gaze. “Perhaps I will have that tea. I’m feeling rather tired really.” The dog skipped by her feet as she leaned over to the small table and took the ornate teapot into her hand.

“It must have been an emotionally exhausting morning for you, Ma’am.”

“That’s the word.” She raised her brow as she poured the tea into the cup. “ _Emotionally exhausted_. I feel like I’ve been exhausted for months now. But it hasn’t even been two days.” She looked into her teacup and gave a small sip before her blue eyes darted up to his, catching him unawares. “It is good to see you today, though.”

Right.

To the actual purpose of his visit.

He readjusted himself in his chair, uncrossing his legs from the accidental casualness he found himself in and sat himself up. “I wouldn’t say that just yet Ma’am. I’ve come here today because my office has scheduled a press conference this afternoon and I thought it best if I give you an intelligence debrief before then.”

The Queen had stilled in her spot.

“The plane?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.” She slowly placed her tea cup back onto the table then flattened out her long pleated skirt on her lap and sat ready in attention.

Will pushed the tea and coffee tray to the side then carefully slid a finger to the back of the manila folder, locked in the other documents and brought the last three large photos out, then laid them one after the out onto the table.

“British investigators on the impact site in Saudi Arabia have found evidence that flight BA01 was shot down by a single surface to air missile to the tail of the plane. Now, these photos here are from United States intelligence satellites – they were taken about 25 minutes after the plane was shot down. If you look here, you can see these grey squares here, that’s three four wheel drives, and in the middle there, US intelligence say that is a Buk missile system.”

The Queen looked up from the photo she had taken from the table to inspect. “A what?”

“A kind of missile launching tank made in Russia.”

“But if it’s Russian, what’s it doing here?”

“ _That_ , Ma’am, is the question.” He gave a small sigh.

She wasn’t half smart.

She continued to study the barren landscape of the photo. “ _Where_ is here?”

“Qatar, Ma’am – about 53 kilometres from the border with Saudi Arabia. And _that_ is where things get a little murky. The Saudis have been quick to point to Qatar as being a hub of funding towards groups such as Al Qaeda and ISIS, so if they get their hands on pictures like these then god knows they’d start yelling that the Emir of Qatar shot down the plane himself.”

She frowned. “You think the Saudis are lying?”

“I think there may be some truth in it. But also quite a lot of self-interest. You must understand, the Saudis and Qataris have not been the best neighbours of late. So I’ll be waiting for the intelligence community to come up with more until I make a conclusion. Besides, no organisation has claimed responsibility for the attack yet.”

“And that’s something they like to do, don’t they?”

“Very much.”

“Strange.” She creased her small brow in thought.

“I’m afraid everything surrounding this attack will only get stranger from here on out, Ma’am.” Will looked at her gravely as they stalled into silence, but then he followed as her eyes looked down to the manila folder kept firmly by his side.

“There’s more photos, aren’t there?”

“Ma’am?”

“In your folder there.” She nodded down to his side. “Are they of the crash site?”

Will felt his chest fall. “I didn’t want to force…you don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

“That means…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

 

“…ok, well let’s… here.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably then held out her hand, though her eyes were still looking down.

Will thought briefly of denying her but he knew already it was hopeless, so reluctantly he handed the manila folder to her and watched in silence as she opened it up and saw the graphic photos within.

Discarded clothes. Broken chairs. And figments of humans. Bits of bodies catalogued by garish yellow number markers, a mockery of what was once whole.

He knew what she was seeing.

He studied her face carefully, watching the shock roll over her, her eyes begin to shine with a moisture she’d barely been able to keep away. But there was something else running underneath it all. An undeniable strength and resilience, despite it all.

She fascinated him.

His thoughts were broken by the slap of her hands as she closed the folder between them.

Her face was cold.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Will shifted forward in his chair.

“Perhaps you need some air, Ma’am. There’s a small garden I know just down from here.”

She looked at him finally, her blue eyes piercing him.

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Victoria’s eyes were closed as she leaned back in the wooden bench and arched her face upwards to the sky.

“I’ve missed this.” She said softly, her eyes still shut as Will tried to not make it seem obvious he’d been standing in the same spot and watching her for two minutes. “Being outside.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “It feels as if I’ve been cooped up inside for ages now.”

“Yes, security can be a pain sometimes.” Will looked down as he scuffed the grass slightly with his shoe. “But you’re safe behind the walls here Ma’am, so no reason you can’t roam around here for as long as you like now.”

She didn’t answer, just sat up on the bench and looked across small hemisphere of garden encircled by trees, as her dog Dash jumped off the bench and began to roam across the grass.

“It is a lovely corner of the garden you’ve found here.” She smiled.

“Yes it is, it is…” Will turned to follow gaze. “Stumbled across it on accident when I went to one of those grand dinners here, always try to come back here since then. Definitely at its glory now with all the flowers starting to bloom. Like over there the scarlet geraniums. Or those brilliant pyramidal orchids.” He found himself enthusiastically pointing out the brightly coloured petals before he realised she probably wasn't the least bit interested in horticulture. He clamped his hands behind his back and shut his mouth.

“Do you like gardening?” Her question came as a surprise as he turned around to see her looking at him without a judgemental look on her face.

“Ah… yes, Ma’am. I suppose it is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“What do you grow at Downing St?” She asked enthusiastically.

“Nothing, unfortunately.” Will shrugged. “The unstable nature of the Westminster system of government makes it rather difficult to grow roots. Especially if you’re a leader of such a rag tag coalition as I am.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yes well it’s probably for the better, otherwise Emma would have to drag me out of there daily in order for me to get any work done.”

“Emma?”

Will looked up to see a curiously frozen look on the young woman’s face.

“My chief of staff.”

“Oh, of course.”

They fell back into silence, as he listened to the low hum of London traffic filtering through the thick trees, and the excited pants of Dash now rolling in the grass. He looked down to his shoes.

“I’m sorry I showed you those pictures, Ma’am.”

“I asked for them.”

“Yes, but still – they have disturbed you and I should never have brought them.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, only watched her dog play on oblivious to their subject.

“You’re not going to show them at the press conference are you?” She finally looked up at him.

“No. They will not be released to the public. Nor will the satellite images. But we will have to show some photos and footage of the impact site. Purely wreckage, no casualties. Is that ok?” He edged closer to her.

“Ok.” She nodded sombrely.

“Also, Ma’am, should everything go to plan in the next 12 hours, the remains of your uncle and his family are due to return to London tomorrow night.”

“Ok. Good.” She gave a sigh and looked up again at the sky. “I should be there then. When they do.”

“Quite right, Ma’am.” Will agreed, when grasped his hands together in reluctance. “Also… I’m sorry for the impertinence, but you should probably consider having at least one person from the press there too, when you go.”

“But it’s private.” Victoria looked up at him as if it were obvious.

Will tried to stop the automatic rebuttal from spewing out of his mouth. She’d figure it out herself soon enough.

She looked over to the trees then gave a sigh. “I guess… I guess one photographer can come.”

“Very good, Ma’am.” He let out a breath of relief. “I promise, this will all get easier once Lehzen finds you a proper Press Secretary.”

“She’s about to interview a couple possibilities today. Seems I need an army to function.”

“I don’t know Ma’am, you seemed pretty proficient at walking out here without me having to carry you, let alone the Queen’s Guard.” He tried a smile. “You are a highly capable woman, Your Majesty, everyone else around you is just there to manage the nonsense.”

She looked up at him with a small smile, then gave him a curious look. “Was there much of a huff online when they all found out I was at Buckingham Palace today?”

Will froze. He had been meaning to school her at the irresponsibly of her coming here today, but he found it impossible to find the words.

“I ah… I find I’m rather a Luddite when it comes to social media. Only just had my flip-phone wrenched out of my hands and replaced with a far less embarrassing Apple product.” He dodged with a shrug and stepped closer towards her.

“My phone’s been stolen too. Miss Skerret my bodyguard took it because it wasn’t secure. But she says they’ll be giving me a new one soon, all with safe browsing and emails and stuff.”

“Her Majesty’s Secret Snapchats?” He raised his brow in jest.

She let out a laugh. “See! You’re not that clueless. But no… I suppose all that kind of stuff is off limits for me now.” She looked down with an unexpected sadness.

“Did you do a lot of that before?” He couldn’t help but pry. “Spend a lot of time online?”

“It was my home.” She looked up at him with honest eyes. “More of a home than I had in reality. Online I had friends and communities. Here I had… well, Dash.” She gave a delicate whistle and patted the edge of the bench when her dog stood up from the grass and potted over for scratch as Will watched on.

She was, despite her young age, hauntingly beautiful.

Before he could stop himself, his right hand reached for the pen tucked away in his inside pocket, while his other delved into his various pockets, looking for a loose scrap of paper.

“Sorry Ma’am, but ah… in the interim of finding…” Will patted himself down but all to no avail. “…of finding a ah, Press Officer…” As a last resort he flicked out the pale green pocket square from his suit and shook it open, then sat down on the other end of the wooden bench and splayed the small piece of fabric against his thigh and started pressing down against it with his pen, slowly scrawling out his number as neatly as possible.

“This – ” He whipped up the ruined pocket square in front of Victoria after he had completed the task. “ – this is my private mobile number. If you have any questions about handling press, or even after that, anything at all, just give me a call or a text, and I’ll ah, see what I can do to help.”

He could have sworn her cheeks began to blush slightly as she looked at the pocket square then scooped it up lightly in her hand.

“Thank you, Mr M.” She gave him a heartfelt smile.

“You’re very welcome, Ma’am.” He felt a warm glow suddenly build up inside his previously hollow chest.

A frown came over his face and he quickly turned out towards the trees before she noticed his change, but a realisation was slowly forming in his thoughts.

Fuck.

He was in danger, wasn’t he?


	5. Chapter 5

“Fuck, you know sometimes I fucking wonder if you’re not just a fucking sentient can of hairspray in a fucking Tom Ford suit, cause you may as well have fucking dead air for brains!”

Will couldn’t help but watch on in quiet amusement as his lanky friend Malcolm paced around the back of his office with a skittish stride.

“Of course the photos leaked!” The Director of Communications continued as he threw up his hands. “It’s the fucking Yanks! Give them a ball of plumbing putty and they’ll fucking stick it in their mouth and start chewing away like coked up cows then pull out a fucking glock and use the pipe as fucking target practice!”

Will spied the Secretary of State for Defence stewing in his seat as Malcolm continued his rant, when he felt a faint vibration in his side pocket.

“They were highly classified intelligence images.” Adam broke out in a growl. “We couldn’t just show them round willy-nilly.”

Will surreptitiously slid his phone out of his pocket, hidden under the lip of his wooden desk, to see a notification grace his screen from an unknown number.

 

_doesn't the body start smelling after a bit?_

“I’m not _willy-nilly_ , I’m the big fucking cock! I’m here to protect all you thankless shrivelled fucking _willies_ from the penectomizing hordes out there. And I could’ve fucking done my job if I found all this out from you, _before_ I saw it plastered over my fucking feed that the fucking two-bit basement dweller production of fucking _Newsies_ they like to call Wikileaks have posted happy snaps of a fucking anti-aircraft missile system doing fucking _burnouts_ in Qatar just twenty minutes after the King was blown out of the fucking sky!”

Will’s brow creased as he tried to decipher the message on his phone, when a thought rose in him with a short smile.

It must be the Queen. She used his number. He hadn't seen her for a couple of days, not since the remains landed back in London, and even then their interaction was brief. He pressed down on the notification.

 

_They preserve the remains by embalming them a little._

She must have been watching the lying-in-state for her uncle then. He’d passed the quiet lines of people snacking through streets outside Westminster that morning. Waiting to pay their respects to a box.

“You’re saying you could have fixed all this?” Adam shot back at the spin-doctor belligerently.

“I’m saying I’d have had a fucking head start! Have time to find some separate excuse to withdraw our invitation to the Emir – political comments, sexual perversions, fucking questionable fashions tastes – anything!”

As quickly as Will sent his message, another returned with a hum in his hand.

 

_like the mummies?_

“These photos are all the excuse we need. The Emir cannot come to the funeral.” Adam stated firmly.

 

_Similar._

 

“We rescind his invitation now it will look as if we’re about to declare war on Qatar.” Emma’s steady voice cut through the two men.

“Aren’t we?” Adam countered plainly. “If the Saudi intelligence is true then how can we not respond with military action?”

          

_Good. Was feeling sorry for those soldiers on guard_

Will looked down at the young monarch’s message with a hidden smile.

“Great, now I have to deal with fucking Pound-store Patton here too!” Malcolm groaned.

“They killed our sovereign! You can’t just get away with that!”

“If you two are _quite_ done!” Emma silenced the room, then took a moment to let the stillness set in. “Military action is _not_ on the table just yet. So if you can reign in your egos for one hot second, can we get back to figuring out how on earth we traverse these next two days? What happens to the Emir’s invitation?”

Without any thought to it, Will found himself saving the number from the messages under the name ‘ _queenie_ ’ as a strange sense of contentment radiated through him.

“Will?”

He looked up to find the three of them staring straight at him in expectation, when under his desk he slipped the smooth phone back into the silk of his pant pocket.

Right then.

PM time.

“Never say we Brits don't take our manners seriously.” Will sighed, then sealed their fate. “The invitation stays. The Emir comes.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sea of heads bobbed and weaved below her.

Groups formed and unformed, hands were shaken, drinks were clinked, and murmurs of brief condolences coalesced together in a wave like the respectful tuning of an orchestra.

Victoria watched on from her dark corner on the landing above the thrall in the old foyer, as a deep tiredness rendered her almost numb.

Four of her family buried in one day.

A Windsor mausoleum had never been filled so quick.

She leaned her weight onto the wooden banister in front of her as the madness of the week rolled into one deafening blow, when it was suddenly interrupted by a shuffle of feet behind her.

Victoria froze at the intrusion, not wanting her precious seclusion destroyed, but when she turned around, to her relief it was only Miss Skerrett her bodyguard, standing in a black fitted suit, and awkwardly holding a bright yellow bottle of champagne in her hands.

“Ma’am.” The young woman gave a small nod in greeting.

“Wonderful, you got one!” Victoria smiled in relief as she stepped away from the edge of the landing and took up the chilled bottle in her hand. “I’m sorry if I took advantage of you with this, but I’m afraid there’s no one else I can really trust.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Ma’am.” Skerrett folded her hands behind her back and gave a small shrug. “Just happy to help. There’s not much to do tonight now that the world’s security is pretty much encircling the place.”

“Yes I suppose you’re right.” Victoria smiled, then raised the yellow bottle. “Will you take a drink with me then?”

“It would be an honour, Your Majesty, but I’m still on the clock.” Skerrett answered reluctantly.

“Of course. Yes of course.” Victoria tried not to feel too disappointed. “Well thank you for getting this for me.” She gathered herself with a smile then looked down to the yellow foil covering the top of the champagne bottle, and skimmed her thumb around the rough surface of it hesitantly. “Actually ah… before you go, are you good at opening these?”

Skerrett’s brow shot up. “Me, Ma’am?”

“Yes, well, I haven’t actually opened a bottle of champagne before. And I’m afraid the instant I try I’ll alert everyone of my hiding place with a great big pop.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve never opened one either.” Her bodyguard frowned.

“Really?”

“I’m more of a lager girl myself…Ma’am. But, you know, I could still give it a go if you’d like…” Skerrett held out her hand helpfully.

“Would you? That would be amazing thank you.” She gave her the bottle and watched in nervous expectation as Skerrett tore off the yellow foil and bundled it into her jacket pocket, then started cautiously untwisting the wire of the cap.

“I think this keeps it all in…” Skerrett precariously lifted the delicate wire cage from the top. “And then maybe if I twist…” She talked through her actions and gave a small grimace of effort as she tightened her fist around the cork of the bottle for a tense second, then stopped with a frown. “It’s not budging.”

“Huh.” Victoria looked at the bottle in deep thought. “May I…” She took the bottle from Skerrett and tried wrapping her hand around the cork in an attempt to shift it, but all to no avail.

“Could be something to do with the pressure, Ma’am.” Skerrett looked down with her as they both contemplated the cork conundrum. “Like, if it’s too built up or something…”

The thought must have hit them at the same time, because their eyes quickly shot up to meet the others in fear. What if the bottle was about to blow? Skerrett immediately hustled the wire frame from her jacket pocket and they both scrambled to return it to the top of the bottle, securing it with far more twists than was likely necessary.

Victoria gripped the champagne tight in her hands.

“I think maybe a different bottle –”

“ – yes I think so too Ma’am.” Skerrett finished her thought with a smile, then gave a short bow. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Your Majesty.”

Victoria smiled as she watched Skerrett walk away down the landing then turned to the stairs, but her expression slowly began fall when her bodyguard passed out of view, and she gave a small sigh then looked back down to unexpected souvenir she had ended up with as it chilled her hands.

Alone again.

As it seems it always was with her.

The rabble of the wake downstairs rose up into her ears again, seemingly distant yet suffocating. She needed fresh air before Skerrett came back. There was a room with a small balcony behind one of the doors near her, she could have sworn it. Last time she went to visit Windsor Castle little George had launched paper planes off from it.

Stepping towards what she faintly remembered to be the correct door, she clutched the champagne bottle with one hand then went for the handle of the door with another, when suddenly the brass nob swung away from her grasp and something broad and hard collided right into her.

“Your Majesty!” A rough voice croaked and too strong palms steadied her by her sides before just as swiftly disappearing. “Forgive me I ah, I didn’t realise anyone was there.”

Victoria felt her cheeks begin to flush red and her stomach bound like a hyperactive puppy as she looked up to see the one man who had remained a torturous, joyous fixture in her brain that week.

Mr M.

She’d ran into Mr M. His chest, his nice black suit, his hands on her bare arms – he’d only ever touched her hands before. The thin hairs on her arms began to stand up and she tried not to be carried away with the potent smell of cigarettes that seemed to hang off him.

No.

She couldn’t appear like some desperate teenager with a stupid crush. He was _William Melbourne_. He was the most eligible bachelor in the UK, with thousands of more beautiful and more intelligent women to choose from – she wouldn’t have a chance in hell of him reciprocating her crush even the tiniest bit.

Calm. Down.

Use. Words.

“No, not at all.” Victoria found her voice in relief, looking away from his debilitating green eyes as he took her hand and performed the compulsory formal greeting. “I didn’t think anyone was there either.”

She caught a smile on the Prime Minister’s kind face, when his brow creased slightly.

“Planning on launching a ship?” Mr M. asked in amusement.

“What?” She looked at him in confusion, but then followed his eyes to the yellow bottle of champagne still firmly in her hand. “Oh, this! Yes. Well I um…” She faltered, trying to think of an excuse, but seeing him there, being as friendly as open as ever, she knew she could trust him. With everything. “…I’m going to get drunk.”

“Oh.” Mr M’s brow shot up in surprise.

“Yes. Just that, you know, I had a thought - after meeting over fifty world leaders today… after overseeing the funeral of my uncle, _and_ aunt, _and_ little George and Edward… after having to look in the eye and shake the hand of a man who may have ordered their death, after knowing that every single look on my face and every movement of my body would have been inspected and deconstructed by the world, after feeling like I’ve spent good 24 whole hours crying so that I’m pretty sure my tear ducts have shrivelled up, after all that I… I think I need to be drunk. Just for a little bit.” Victoria’s eyes swelled with warmth, and her chest tightened into a familiar strain, but no tears came. She was spent of everything.

Mr M. looked over her for a moment, then gave a small nod to himself. “Right you are then. Well in that case, would you like me to help you with the bottle?”

“Oh could you, that would be wonderful.” Victoria felt a small weight fall from her. “Skerrett and I tried but we were rather afraid it would explode.”

Mr M. strode out of the dark doorway and onto the landing when he smoothly collected the bottle into his hands. “Don’t want to blow your cover up here.” He gave her a knowing wink then with practiced fingers, unwound the wire cage then cocooned the top of the bottle with his hands, until she heard the smallest of muted pops.

“Et voilà.” He drew the cork away with a flourish and held out the finally opened bottle to her. “Your Veuve Clicquot, Your Majesty.”

“But you made it look so easy!”

“It just takes a lot of practice, Ma’am. Which I guess in this case is not something to be particularly proud of.” Mr M. smiled as she took the bottle from the neck, but then her breath hitched as he placed a palm over her hand, and brought the cork in over the top, recreating the move with her in place. “You’ve just got to let the cork do its thing, you see. Get it started with a little twist and pull, and then put pressure against it as it rises, controlling the ascent until slowly but surely, you break the seal…” He dropped his hand away from hers and raised the cork between them, leaving her with duelling sensations as the palm of her hand chilled against the bottle, whilst the back burned with a giddy heat. “…and you’re left with one completely pacified cork.”

Victoria took in a steadying breath as she looked at his wise face.

“I’m very grateful I ran into you, Mr M.” She let out before she could stop herself.

“As I am sure the light bulbs of Windsor Castle are as well.” He gave the cork a little toss in the air then stuffed it in his pocket, his eyes shimmering as he looked down at her, the corners of his lips lifting playfully.

“Well,” She looked away before her feelings became too obvious. “Bottoms up then.” Victoria lifted the champagne in salute then took a healthy swig of the sparkling liquid, until the bubbles rushed up her rose, then she quickly lowered the bottle with a cough and looked up when she saw an indecipherable look cross Mr M’s face.

“Have you…had champagne before, Ma’am?” He asked carefully.

“Loads.” Victoria immediately swallowed in embarrassment. That was an overstatement. But he must think she was such a child. “Loads of times. And, don’t worry, I’ve gotten drunk before too. Actually the last time I ended up being sick all over mama’s shoes.”

“Well I’ll make sure to keep at least three feet away from you tonight then.” Victoria smiled at Mr M’s deadpan comment, as his face thankfully fell back into the quiet amusement she was now getting so used to. “Good thing you’re camped out up here too, wouldn’t want any vomit-related international crises.” He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and turned towards the banister of the landing, to where the sea of guests remained below.

“Yes…” Victoria took a step towards the edge, close to where the railing met the wall of the darkened hallway, so she could just peek the heads of the crowd. “…I suppose you’ve already had your fill of crises today.”

“Hmmm.” She heard his jagged hum reverberate behind her when he quietly appeared by her side and they leant onto the railing together, protected by shadow of the landing from any wandering eyes two levels below. “It’s been a day.”

Victoria turned from his thoughtful face and looked over the array of dignitaries below. She always thought wakes should be a personal thing. Dear friends and relatives celebrating the life of someone they knew and loved. But looking down at the congregation below her, it looked nothing like a personal remembrance. It was practically a UN summit. With one glance she could see Presidents, Chancellors, Monarchs, Prime Ministers, Generals, Lords and Emirs.

Was that all she would become in the end? A title?

Her gaze fell on the Emir of Qatar. Positioned in the far corner of the foyer, yet standing his ground emphatically while his small team around him sipped on their juice and watched the crowd, occasionally breaking for furtive remarks. But no other dignitary was with them. Not like all the other mixed groups that had formed in the party. It looked like the world had decided the Qataris social outcasts.

He didn't look like a killer. He looked like someone just who wanted to fit in. She knew that look well.

But still. Those photos.

Her mind cast itself back to that morning, when it was the Emir’s turn for the official greeting. She could feel everyone in the hall tense up in one sharp moment. Eyes were fixed. Would she do it? Would she welcome him? She felt like she had been looking for his hand for hours, trying clarify the madness of reasoning for and against it all – but he had been invited. That meant he must be greeted. She pushed through and took his hand, put on a smile, and looked into his eyes.

A chill ran down Victoria’s back.

“What if he did it?” She found herself asking softly, eyes focused on the Emir. “What if he did order the hit?”

She could hear Mr M. shift slightly in his place beside her, and take in a sigh. “Then you would have committed a terrible diplomatic faux pas. But Ma’am…. you must understand, in situations like this, there are no definite and correct answers. He may have ordered the attack, he may have sponsored the terrorists – but what if he hadn’t? What if he’s a completely innocent man and by _not_ greeting him, by _not_ inviting him, you showed great disrespect and distrust, and thus every chance we had of finding answers and help on the ground in Qatar would have disappeared in an instant.” She looked over to him as he gave her a small frown, then turned back down to the others. “Diplomacy is a game we must play. Not a particularly _fun_ game, or genuinely fulfilling in any way…but necessary for our own survival. You will, I’m afraid, take a little heat from the pictures of you greeting the Emir. And even more heat if it turns out the Saudis are correct…but what you did today - it would have been incredibly hard - but it was right.” She felt him turn towards her a bit, so she met his eyes. “No matter what your doubts, you did the right thing today. And I am very proud of you, Your Majesty.”

Victoria’s insides felt like they did a backflip as her eyes began to radiate with a familiar heat, though this time not from any sadness. A smile grew on her face but she looked away before she could make too much of a fool of herself, and took in the crowd below her with a newfound confidence.

“Well…you know, it _was_ hard… but surprisingly not as hard as it was to stop myself from wiping my hand down my dress in front of everyone after I shook the Finnish President’s hand.”

She heard Mr M. let out a hoarse chuckle beside her, causing spirits to leap. “Yes I expect it was, Ma’am.”

“He’s a very sweaty man!” She looked over to him, encouraged.

“Most memorably.” He raised his brow in exaggeration. “No doubt you had a tough time with the Portuguese President too?”

“Such horrid breath!” She exclaimed in a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think he even knows?”

“A man like that, I think he believes it to be a strategic political tool. That, or he considers himself too good for toothpaste.”

“Are they all so arrogant?”

“World leaders? Part of the job description, really.” He gave a resigned shrug as she started to scan through the faces below when she recognised one easily.

“So…even the German Chancellor there?” She asked enthusiastically.

“Yes well she thinks she’s the only thing holding Europe together. Problem is, she’s probably right. ”

“The Canadian PM?” She pointed.

“Even worse. Far too handsome for his own good. Also keeps challenging me to a boxing match for some reason.”  

Victoria couldn’t help but turn back to Mr M. and imagine what he’d look like shirtless and sweaty. She swallowed hard.

“You never considered accepting?”

“I’d be knocked out in the first blow.”

“Well that’s because you smoke.” She stated matter-of-factly, to which his brow lifted in surprise.

“Ma’am?”

“That’s why you where in that room. Quite obvious really.” Victoria breezed. “But you really should quit, it’s horrible for your health.”

Mr M. looked over to her in silence for a moment, almost studying her. “Will you forgive me if I told you I was only smoking due to immense stress?”

Victoria’s face fell into puzzlement. He seemed so at ease all the time, so knowledgable and calm. He had so quickly become her bedrock – but if he felt such stress, what did he have to help him?

“Yes…” She started, trying to put on her most gracious and queenly air. “I suppose so… just this once.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He gave a sombre bow of his head in jest, but she was not sated.

“So… it _was_ bad today?” She prodded carefully.

Mr M. just sighed and looked back down to the wake. “Still is.” He said in a quiet voice. “Emma’s running round down there now…. but today it seems like everyone’s been close to getting in a scrap with the Emir. If it’s not the Saudi king, it’s the US President, and if it’s not her, then it’s the bloody Tories…” His eyes glazed over slightly, as he watched the people below. “I should probably go back down.” He murmured to himself in thought.

Victoria tensed a little. She didn’t want him to go. She knew it was selfish but she didn’t care.

“But you’re helping me, Mr M.” She let out in forced authority. “Briefing your sovereign. That’s important, right?”

His eyes flicked back to her, his jaw tensed in thought, which made his cheekbones stand out even more in the shadows, but then his expression eased in acceptance. “Yes it is Ma’am.” He again gave a shallow nod in respect, and she tried to hide down her grin for getting her own way. But still, he was silent, and the look on his face was not as relaxed as she would like.

She straightened up slightly and turned back to the party below, trying to think of something to say that would amuse him. “ _All these world leaders_ …” She attempted. “…all these world leaders, but no Beyoncé.”

She heard a breath of a laugh beside her.

Win.

“Indeed…” She glanced over to see Mr M. smiling wryly. “… _that_ may in fact be the greatest diplomatic faux pas.”

“Just a rookie error, really. I doubt Queen B will forgive us.” Victoria joined as their eyes met for a second, but then she turned her back to the crowd below and brought up the champagne bottle for a second swig.

The refreshing bubbles ran down her throat, and there was a faint warmth rising from her chest, when she looked over to see Mr M. looking over his shoulder to her. An idea came suddenly to her head.

“I feel terribly rude drinking this whole thing in front of you…” She lifted the bottle in her hand and held it out to him. “…would you like some?”

His eyes flicked back and forth from the bottle and her face, as if he was going through some internal debate, but then the tip of his tongue peeked out just for an instant to lick his lips.

Suddenly he stood up straight from his hunched position against the bannister.

“Thank you, Ma’am – there um…I believe I saw some glasses in the room back there. Should we relocate, perhaps?” He asked smoothly.

Victoria tried to tamp down her wild speculations that had instantly dumped upon her like a sudden downpour.

He is the PM. Not some boy. _He is not interested_.

“Ah… yes, good idea Mr M.” She smiled, a weightlessness gathering within her that she didn’t know wether to account it to him or the alcohol.

He strode out in front of her across the shadowed landing and passed through the doorway where they had previously crashed into each other, busied himself around the entrance, obviously looking for a light switch, then when the room on the other side was bathed with a warm glow, he stepped to the side and held the door open to her, offering her the way through.

She gave a polite smile and walked through on unsteady heels, looking around the room as she entered it. Yes it definitely was the one she remembered. The deep chairs, the small balcony. An old sitting room with walls of books on either side that young Edward would spend hours removing from their place and dropping them on the floor before anyone else could catch him. The room she snuck off to when she was 11, and stole a sip of a brown drink in one of those glass bottles, which made her cough for five minutes and swear she would never drink any horrid alcohol again.

Seemed a fitting place then.

The sound of the door closing clicked behind her, and when she turned around she saw Mr M. already retrieving two crystal tumblers from the side cabinet, when he walked up to one of the small wooden side tables and placed them down for her. She followed his motion by going up to the table and precariously filled the glasses with the champagne, but only seemed to be able to pour two columns of bubbles. She looked up to Mr M. with an unsure smile, but he seemed utterly unbothered by her artless serving, and took up one of the white filled glasses. She did the same, placing the bottle down on the table then lifting up her own glass, when she looked him in the eye, her thoughts turning serious.

“God save the King.” She said, the words only just managing to escape her tightened throat.

“God save the King.” Mr M. raised his glass with her and echoed sombrely, then they both tilted their glasses back deeply to take a sip of champagne.

Victoria quickly wiped away the bubbles from her lip and tip of her nose, when the tiredness she had long been running from seemed to catch up with her again. She turned in her spot and found a close lounge to sit on, which she did without grace, then immediately began to take off her painful black heels and rub the balls of her feet, when she realised she probably she shouldn’t do that as a regent in front of the Prime Minister.

“Oh, sorry, Mr M.” She looked up to find him watching.

“Don’t be.” He waved off. “Heels are painful at the worst of times, Ma’am, but today must have been a killer.”

Something in his reply made Victoria wondered if he knew this from personal experience, but she didn’t feel confident yet in asking. “Oh, I’m used to it really.” She dropped her feet down and leant back into the lounge. “Been wearing heels for years now. Mama always preferred me in them, said I was too short to stand next her without it looking like a complete joke.”

Mr M’s face darkened. “You are not a joke, Ma’am. With shoes, or without.”

Victoria couldn’t help but feel comforted by his instant denial, but still the ever-present darkness ran deep in her, unaffected and constant. She let out a small sigh and looked up to the ceiling in thought.

“ _We are prisoners of our parent’s faults…_ ” She murmured quietly to herself, then looked back to Mr M, who was taking a seat on the other side of the small room. “…I think I read that somewhere. Or heard it… I don’t know. Seems true though, don’t you think?”

Mr M. looked down at his glass and turned it in his hand. “I think there is some truth in it, yes.”

“I don’t blame mama for what she did to me, you know.” She admitted quietly. “Well, _not completely_ – but I know what she did, she did for my protection.”

“Of course Ma’am.” He automatically responded, but she couldn’t help feel he didn’t mean it.

“Seems ironic, really. That after all that effort I’m now smack-bang in middle of the public eye. I mean, there was no way she could have possibly known but still… all those years… just seems like a horrible waste, really.” Victoria gave a contemplative sip of her champagne and studied him carefully as he remained silent. Watching. “What’s your mum like?”

A smile shot up on his lips unexpectedly, and fell into a thoughtful look as he glanced away. “ _Irrepressible_.” His gaze fell back onto her as his expression became tinged with a certain wistfulness. “She would have liked you. Though she’d have a problem with your taste of champagne – she was a _Krug-or-nothing_ kind of lady.” He sipped at his glass with a small smile.

“Doesn’t sound much like the mother of a Labour leader.” Victoria commented, quietly thrilled she had managed to get him talking about himself.

“Ha.” He just let out a wry laugh. “Yes, well, joining Young Labour was partly my own teenage rebellion gone wrong.”

“She stopped talking to you?”

Mr M. just gave a grin and looked up in the air. “ _No_ – she swiftly decided Maggie Thatcher was a frigid bore and not worth socializing with anyway, and so became Labour’s number one supporter.” Victoria couldn’t help but giggle as Mr M. leaned casually against the arm of the chair. “And this all in the space of a day, I seem to remember.”

“And what did your father think?” Victoria began bring up her feet onto the lounge and tuck them in under herself, shifting the bottom of her black dress as she wanted their conversation to go on forever.

But Mr M’s face changed slightly. “Ah… I’m not sure.”

A familiar fear hit Victoria like a cold grip. “Oh, I’m sorry did he…”

“No.” He answered quickly, understanding her question. “Well… I don’t know. Could have. Could also be alive and well…” He trailed off slightly. “You see, Ma’am, I never knew who my father was. Not for certain. My mother never chose to tell me.”

Crap.

What did she do?

“I’m so sorry.” She tried desperately to dig herself out of the horrible hole she’d created. And it was all going so well…

“There is no need, Ma’am.” He replied earnestly, calming her a little bit. “I’ve had a lifetime of living without him, it is not a loss that I feel. I mean, there were times I was frustrated and angry, yes, but I’ve far outgrown that now.”

Something hooked itself deep into her heart, tearing through the flesh.

“When?”

“Sorry?”

“When did you outgrow it?” She asked quietly, sitting tense.

He studied her in silence for a moment before answering. “About your age, possibly younger.”

Victoria nodded slowly, and began to ingest his words, when memories of a disjointed figure swam back into her mind once more.

“I still feel the loss.” She found herself saying, her eyes to the floor. “Of my dad, that is. But it’s been so long now, it’s kind of weird, because it’s like I almost _want_ that loss to stay. Because maybe if it goes, _he goes_.”

There was another silence, as she cursed herself for getting too personal, but she could hear him shift in his chair a little.

“Do you have any memories of him?” His scratchy voice cut through the quiet.

“Only a couple.” She finally looked back at him, then took another sip of champagne for strength, the gradual effect of which was making her feel almost fluid. “He was always in his uniform. One time I was playing piano on his lap, then another we were at the dinner table… everything else is just news clips on youtube, really.”

“He was a brave man.” Mr M. bowed his head in reverence.

“Did you know him?” A light of hope rose up in Victoria.

“I met him.” He tempered. “Once. Just before he shipped to Afghanistan. Spent the whole time talking about how proud he was of his battalion. I believe he was a great leader, Ma’am.”

Victoria smiled to herself, thankful for his words. “Mama never talks about him. I learned quickly not to ask her.”

A strange look passed over his face. “Perhaps she still finds pain in the loss?”

“Maybe.” She shifted uncomfortably. “But she’s been with John Conroy now far longer than she ever was with dad.”

“Oh.” Mr M’s brow lifted in surprise. “Right, so they are…”

“For years now.” Victoria answered quickly with a sigh. “Don’t know why they insist on keeping it secret. Conroy probably thinks it a better public image to stay the loyal widow.”

“ _Well_ … he’s not wrong there.” Mr M. strained to admit.

“It’s always about the image for him.” She wrapped an arm tight around herself, and rested the glass on her knee. “No doubt he’s stressing out downstairs, wondering why I’m not there being seen to do my duty.”

“You have done more than enough of that today, Ma’am.” Mr M. comforted. “Yes, you are a head of state, but you are also a niece who has lost their family. Anyone down there who does not understand that, is not worth bothering with.”

Victoria gave him a small smile then took another sip of her champagne, adding to the warmth in her chest. “You are very kind to me, Mr M.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just watched her, the corners of his lips shifting as if he was calibrating how to answer, when he finally let out a smile. “That is what friends are for, Ma’am.”

Victoria’s heart leapt. “You’re my friend?”

“If you'll have me, Ma’am.”

She felt as if she could shout out an ecstatic yes, when all of the sudden the door to the small dark sitting room opened and a head popped out through the gap and looked around the space.

“Ma’am…?” Skerrett attempted quietly, when her gaze fell on Victoria and she opened the door properly, revealing another bottle of champagne, when she triumphantly strode into the room. “Ah Ma’am, I found another bottle – oh, I’m so sorry Mr Melbourne!” She froze in her stride the moment she glimpsed the Prime Minister sitting casually next to her.

“No please – ”

“It’s quite alright Skerrett, we’re all friends here!” Victoria jumped up from the lounge with a newfound burst of energy, glass held aloft, when she saw Mr M. looking at her with an amused glint in his eye. “We are! So I insist you stay here with us and have a drink.” She grinned at her bodyguard and placed her glass down on the side table. “By royal decree, you are officially off the clock! Now hand me that bottle.”

She thrust out her hand towards Skerrett, who was fighting a smile, but relented the champagne to Victoria who gathered it into her hands enthusiastically.

“I know how to do this now, Mr M. taught me.” She proclaimed proudly as she ripped off the foil and untied the wire, leaving the cork exposed, when she covered it with a fist and gave it a twist. “ _Et viol –_ ”

There was a thunderous pop.

A hard thump on the floor.

A glistening crash of glass.

 

And sudden silence.

 

Then the room erupted in laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

She looked angelic.

He would have normally baulked at the analogy, his easy cynicism laying waste to any saccharine trail that dared to weave through his mind – yet there it was. Because there she was. In a pristine white dress, at an ornately set tea table, in the middle of a lush and blooming garden, illuminated by a soft dappled light that danced through the top of the trees. The virginal protector of Albion. The blessed mother of England’s green and pleasant land.

It was almost laughable, really.

“The Prime Minister, William Melbourne!” His name was suddenly boomed across the green by the wiry butler beside him, standing stiff like a rod, which perplexed Will as to what arcane rule decreed that one required a shouted announcement when outside, while his own left ear rung slightly from the outcome of it.

The Queen arose from the garden chair with a wide smile, causing Will to chastise himself for thinking he was the sole catalyst for it. Or more particularly, that he should be _glad_ that he was. He gave a short nod from the neck before he could let his exhausted mind take him down a path he definitely did not wish to tread.

“Good afternoon, Mr M!” She greeted him gladly from her place in the centre of the sectioned off garden as her small canine companion leapt up onto his feet.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am.” He echoed as he moved away from the serious escort and made his way to her with tired steps, taking up her hand with another bow from the neck.

“Our first proper weekly meeting!” She pronounced with a grin, as in the corner of his eye he could see the butler backing away into the groomed trees, leaving them alone in their corner of the garden.

“Indeed Ma’am, though I must apologize for not being able to schedule it in the morning as it should be.” Will looked down at her with a rueful smile. “Seems we’re making quite the habit of unorthodoxy.”

“Nothing wrong with doing things a little differently.” She eased herself down to her chair and brushed down the skirt of her dress, when he joined and took his assigned seat opposite her, crossing a leg over casually as he stole a scratch behind Dash’s silky ear. “Anyway, you had important work at Westminster. Lehzen and I have been keeping a watch on Parliament - you’ve been having a horrible time of it recently, and probably stuck inside for days, so I thought I’d do something different myself and have the meeting out here where you can sit by the flowers. Oh, and have some coffee too.” He found her smiling sweetly at him as she gestured to the spread of cups and pots covering the small table, which battled for space against an unidentified black folio.

“That is very thoughtful of you, Ma’am, thank you.” He said genuinely, and moved to pour himself a small cup. No doubt he looked as tired as he felt, which was not a particularly good sign. “How was your morning in the end?”

“Very productive.” The small Queen enthused, as he took a sip of the blessed hot drink. “We had a photographer in while I went through the red boxes. Hence the dress and everything.” She ran a self conscious hand down the skirt of her dress again, which, coupled with the sharp white tailored jacket and delicately bundled up hair, gave her a surprising air of authority.

Surprising.

_She was the Queen, Will._

“Yes, Emma mentioned you’ve taken on Harriet Sutherland as your communications’ director.” He lowered the dainty cup to rest atop his crossed knee. “Their kids went to day care together. Surprised the two of them didn’t raise an army of toddlers while they were there too, she seems like a pretty shrewd egg.”

“She’s lovely.” The Queen poured herself a cup of tea. “We constructed a whole public image for myself, with a permanent stylist and everything. Spent almost the whole afternoon yesterday going through the most wonderful clothes. Racks and racks of designer items, it was all rather daunting really… Mama chose most of my clothes before, you see. But having the two of them ended up being so helpful.”

Will couldn’t help but let out a sly smile. “Yes, let me guess Ma’am – it was absolutely impossible to choose just a handful of options, so you ended up picking them all.”

“No!” She denied through her laughter, then gave a sly smile of her own. “Well… Maybe. Yes. But only because it would be a hurtful affront against so many hardworking British designers if I sent anything back.”

“Indeed. How magnanimous of you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes I thought so too.” She replied with comic haughtiness as she sipped her tea with her pinkie dancing upwards. “Anyway…” She placed her tea on the table shuffled up in her chair a little to lean forward to him conspiratorially. “Alfie - my stylist - he said that the majority of them had been offered to him for free! I mean, even though I can pay for it and everything. He said the labels didn’t care, because if people see me wear stuff of theirs, it would profit them tenfold cause I’ll be a ‘trendsetter’.” She gave a laugh at herself. “More like a walking billboard, if you ask me.”

“But a very thrifty billboard.” Will smiled as he nipped more coffee. “Rule One of leadership: Never piss off the tax payers.”

“Noted.” She gave a succinct nod, when he could see a conjecture pass across her face. “Wait, but what if you need to fund something, something that will really help everyone?”

“Then you’ll understand why Parliament is such a stagnant mess.” Will let out a tired sigh.

Victoria paused for a moment, a calculating glint in her eye.

“Wars cost money.” She stated simply.

“And then some.” He gulped down the last of the bitter coffee.

“So how come the Tories are so determined to start one with Qatar?”

Will’s eyes felt impossibly heavy as he glanced up to the rarely clear London sky, then back down to the waiting Queen, searching for the words that seemed to float just out of his grasp. “…Because they’ve been hurt, Ma’am. And not just the Tories either. It may be difficult for you to understand this…being so close to your uncle’s family, that is… but for quite few people, the Hanover’s were their family too. They were born under the protection of your grandmother, watched when your uncle had to take up the mantle, followed as he fell in love, and celebrated when they were blessed with two healthy boys. They were the home of the nation, the first family of Britain.”

“They were my _actual_ family, but I still don’t a war.” Her voice was low.

“Yes well not many people are as strong as you are, Your Majesty.” The compliment rolled off his tongue before he could stop himself. “For the majority, when they are hurt, they lash out. They crave retaliation for their pain and wounded pride – and the Tories, like any well-meaning public representatives, they are just following the strongest current.”

“But you’re going to stop it, aren’t you?” The Queen looked at him with her confident blue eyes, but his own tired gaze could not match it.

“Maybe.” He glanced down to his empty cup. “It is still too early to make any critical decision.”

“Well I can help you there!” Her face unexpectedly lit up with unbridled enthusiasm as she placed down her cup and picked up the waiting black folio from the small table. “Lehzen and I have been doing a lot of research on Qatar and the whole Arabian Peninsula.” She opened up the folio in her lap to reveal pages of neatly hand written notes. “All about the history and the politics - and I’ve come to a pretty confident conclusion: The Emir is innocent.”

“Ma’am?”

“Think about it – why would he want to kill my uncle? They have so much invested in Britain. I mean, even the Shard is owned by Qataris. We’ve had really good international relations, they're extremely rich, politically stable, and they’ve even got a US army base right in the middle of their country – it would be so incredibly stupid to order a hit on my family.”

“I agree, Ma’am.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t we just explain all that to the opposition?” Her small brow creased in confusion.

“Because I do not know who else we can blame.” Will offered up honestly with a sigh, then placed his empty cup on the table with purpose. “I do believe the Emir is innocent, for all the points you’ve very perceptively made, and more - but the problem is, we do not have a strong enough alternative suspect. The usual terrorist organisations are all still silent, and I’m getting no clear answers from intelligence either. All I have is doubt. And when in doubt, Ma’am, one must always delay.”

“But that means the Tories will keep attacking you.” She gave a frown, and Will tried desperately to be unaffected by her sweet care.

“Nothing I’m not used to already, Ma’am, I assure you.” Will gave a weary smile.

“I still don’t like it. Especially when I’ll be…” Her furrowed brow rose up suddenly with an idea. “I know! I know how I can help. My birthday is less than a month, and we’ve been discussing parties and events and stuff – including the marching thing; Trooping the Colour. But the whole image of me surveying troops and saluting them - that will just look like propaganda for the people who want war. So it’s simple! I’ll just cancel it!” She gave a triumphant smile, but Will’s chest twisted to respond.

“Ma’am…you can’t.”

“Why not? You said before I have to be a beacon of calm and hope for the people – I can’t be that if I’m seen to support war.”

“Of course not Ma’am - and while I stand by what I told you, and indeed am touched that you have taken my words to heart – I fear that if you cancel this very popular and traditional event, it will only be seen as a grave insult to the military.” Will attempted carefully.

“How could I insult them?” The Queen sat up straight in offence. “I am a soldier’s daughter. I am proud of my father, and of his sacrifice.”

“I see that, Ma’am – but I worry others won’t. And I cannot let you endanger your public image on my account.”

“Why not?” She bristled.

Will gave a sigh and looked at her with tired eyes, as his lips formed into a sad smile. “Because you are the Queen. And I am only a lucky visitor.”

“You’re my friend too.”

Friend.

Will looked down.

He had stolen a few too many whiskies on the night of the Hanover’s wake, before he had stumbled upon her. He knew he had been too casual, slipped over the professional boundaries too easily. But the fact was, when was he was around her, he felt something he had not felt for exactly eight years, three months and twelve days. He felt present.

“Yes.” He finally looked back at Victoria, his voice low. “And as your friend, I feel I have a duty to protect you. Please Ma’am, you must consider the implications if you cancel the event. I have battled with the opposition before, I’m fine – but I will not have you as a needless casualty.”

Her blue eyes softened. “But who will protect you?”

“There is no protection for politicians, Ma’am.” Will couldn’t help but give a wry smile. “Democracy makes sure of it.”

“So all I can do is sit by and watch.” Victoria closed her folio and cast it back onto the small table then sat back in her chair and turned to the wall of trees that encircled them. “While they try to tear your coalition apart. While they use my family to inspire a war. While they use my own name to attack innocent people on the street.”

Will’s stomach tightened. She had seen the news then. A drastic spike in attacks against Muslims, some even streamed online as the jingoistic, racist filth claimed they were taking revenge for their King. And Queen.

But she had to do nothing.

The Monarch must remain a clouded mirror, for others to see just enough of their own political positions reflected in it. Pick only one reflection, and it would be smashed.

He needed to explain that to Victoria. He needed to tell her what her life was now.

But there she sat. Behind a folio diligently compiled notes that she couldn’t act on. Looking out over a beautifully manicured garden within walls she couldn’t leave. Her electrifying radiance from before had diminished, and he couldn’t stand it.

Nothing else for it then.

“I was…” Will took the plunge, folding his leg back over his knee when Victoria finally looked back at him. “…I was talking yesterday to the head of Home Office. He told me about a holy day coming up for him next week. Mid Shaban, I believe it’s called. He said it’s the day when your fortune for the upcoming year is decided, but it’s also about forgiveness.”

A light was rekindled behind her blue eyes. “Forgiveness?”

“Yes Ma’am.” He gave a short nod.

She shuffled up in her chair, obviously clueing in to what he was suggesting.

“And if I was to visit a mosque, on a purely non-political visit, of course, but just to show my support for my subjects of the Muslim-faith on their holy day – ”

“ – and maybe hand out a few sweets as is traditional – ”

“ – of course.” She brimmed with a smile as her self-assuredness returned once more. “I can do something.”

“Indeed you can, Ma’am…” He couldn’t help but let out his own soft smile as he looked over her bright face, illuminated by the prospect of helping others. The heart-stopping beauty of hope. How had she managed to worm her way under his skin with only a few meetings?

He was going soft.

Or a repressed monarchist.

Either way he was a lost cause.

Will folded his hands together in his lap and felt the last of his tiredness evaporate into the clear sky as he looked over the white Queen and found his mind flowing down a long forgotten trail.

“You give strength.”

* * *

 


End file.
